1.
An Autobiography of MY MIRROR
The moment of my consciousness, when I am utterly alone, but I do not, feel lonely, my very own being becomes the whole, in the straits of her. This is the longing of me; this is hidden in my deepest, innermost core that makes me happy. And she’s the sole reason, my beloved.
Her always, captivating and bewitching smile, makes not only me, but the whole world happy. I expect clear sky, but receive velvety umber sky with crimson horizon. As I sit face to face with the buoyant charismatic smile of hers, I down under and go around for a spree of contentment. Just because of her, this present never kills me. I am so lively, so much in this world, so living apiece. I always get drenched in the infinite explosion of love that she showers over me. I make her look good and she makes me feel good. We are parasites made for each other-a purity of love. Her jubilant colours and ecstatic emotions, euphoric mind over elation, all the day, makes my every day. She is a rhythm, a classic tone sung in a high pitch. A blissful delight!
Every morning, when she wakes me up, light waves and shadows fly over the caring bridge. A bridge that binds us! The resilient power and the inspiration transcending over the same caring bridge between us; she gave me words, she taught me to speak words, she made me see this world, and she made me to live life. Though I’m hung over on a grimy ceramic, I have never felt in my life like I’ve become standstill. No never. Just like staff notations, I’ve gone far beyond the yonder to see this world, through her eyes. When she catches me over the day she showers the softness of a flute and during the night, I get sodden in the decibels of a saxophone. She hums straight into my heart, touching my emotional cords and makes my day. Though, I’m brittle I’m not vulnerable; in the solitude of her, I’m safe than ever. My soul erupts, as she glances over me, over my riveting shining beauty and smolders over with the scent of fuming ashes. I ooze out the slithering beauty, doesn’t matter what the time is; in her sole retreat. Whenever her cerulean thoughts emerge out, when she cry’s or laughs in front of me, lingers and touches me, makes me feel me and I a parasite of her succumbs in a reverie, and surreal waves of thoughts out of me, making a cloud, relinquishing my passion for her, and the ardor just touches her. At that time, I could not be more than myself.
Our relation, of a non living being and a living being, so pure and so strong! So that, none shall cross, none shall break. We’re in relationship, forever. Our relationship, like fine gold spun inside, with the warmth and fragrance of this sweet earth, like seven colours of heaven, high in the sky.
2.An autobiography of MY MIRROR
Day and night are the antiquity of life, and I am just one. I exist and I fracture, I laugh and I shine. I am fragile and I am vulnerable. Just like human beings, even I am this earth’s product. But he hates me. I want to see a sparkle in his dark black eyes, but what I see in his eyes when he sees me is the same darkness, and I feel like a secluded cloud of fog transcending over the horizon; losing my existence. And I listen to the same sound of silence, the same tranquility and serenity in his eyes. I have become so stagnant, and this stagnancy has made me gone lost. I want to see this world, just like any other living flesh. But he don’t even touch me, my life has become futile. I am wholly lost. I m so beautiful, I m so glittery and shimmering but I want human being to touch me. I want him to touch me, to feel me. I want emotions to ruin me, to belligerently squash me.
At dawn, I seek for the rays of life, to enlighten me, to wake me from the slumber of this mean world. At twilight, I don’t exist. Darkness is my ally. With every sun that dips, I feel like a Martian in a far-off shore. And when it’s dark, it shines. But he doesn’t. He hides everything from me. There’s always a lot to know from his Pandora’s Box.
Whenever I see him see me see him, I feel happy. But still, I am unable to sparkle his dark black eyes. Still, I can only find the same masochism of being a mortal, just a mortal; who is lost in the manacles of this neutrophilic world entangled in the nets of his own thoughts. And because of his so behavior, I feel like haunted, for a flicker. So that I can rejuvenate myself with the superfluous oomph! He, a bête noir is profane of his own thoughts, I can see in his eyes and that makes my odyssey an ordeal. And I cry in the hues of my lost emotions. Some eerie thought process in me says, “I do believe, but can’t act”. I am the same mirror, no breaths, no flesh, no emotions and no sentiments. And still I am bluntly proclaiming that I want to live my life, not with a fugitive. I want to probe down into the drenches of his heart. I want to linger around his pulsating heart and want try to make him urge. My own very reason of life levy’s no weight on my existing of being; all because of him.
I make people happy, I make them look good, I make them look beautiful. But this mean world has devastated him. I seek awakening, I seek enlighten, detachment and serenity, I believe an unexamined life is not worth living. I want to make him feel good. Amen.
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